


The 100th Time

by Adora



Category: Free!
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Cyberpunk, Drama, Future Fic, M/M, Mystery, Rin is like Deckard but not really, Science Fiction, Sex, australian blondie makes also an appearance, dark themes, i love blade runner (1981), it has my favourite score ever, rinharu - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-02-27 13:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13248885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adora/pseuds/Adora
Summary: In a dystopian world full of ruthless humans and insensitive replicants, Rin is assigned to a mission that is about to change his life. Or maybe the life he thought he owned.Cyberpunk AU, inspired by the original Blade Runner and a bunch of other sci-fi gems.





	1. Part I: Mission

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenPotatos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenPotatos/gifts).



> Imagine how many fans like dark themes, that we were paired up together haha Truth is I had suspected you were also my gifter the moment I received you as my giftee for the second year in the row. I just hope I didn't disappoint last year, so getting me again as a gifter isn't a bad sign off the bat. That said, this story is divided into 5 chapters and the next four will be posted shortly throughout the following days. So if you want to wait and read it all together, it's also fine, it's entirely your choice. Thanks for giving me the chance to try my quill for the first time in cyberpunk. I hope I didn't make a complete mess out of it! I have also used your prompts with the engraved names, but only vaguely. Happy 2018!
> 
> To everyone: Story is loosely inspired by the first Blade Runner, however, I've taken a lot of liberties.

  
**The 100th Time**  
  
Part I: Mission

* * *

 

_The sunlight filters through the leaves in mysterious ways. He is riding a bicycle, two rows of sakura trees interlacing into an arc that dapples his trail with laughing shadows. A drizzle of cherry blossoms cascades around him, and before kissing the ground, they turn into the sea. No matter how peculiar, pedalling onto the sea feels more natural than ever. A whistle blows and he finds himself inside a hasty crowd. Someone is tailing after him, but just like Orpheus was banned from laying eyes upon his Eurydice, he knows he shouldn't glance back. The road ahead expands luminous and long, and the further he walks, the more its oscillating sidelines are shaping up into a carpeted corridor._

_He is counting._

_21...22..._

_Smiling and counting._

_23...24....25..._

When Rin wakes up, the world is a blur of cobalt and scarlet. From the carousel of random thoughts slowly emerges a hint of order and there is a fleeting moment when he is whole again, but it evaporates fast as migraine kicks in. A deep breath makes his chest swell and he temporarily squints as if to concentrate. When his eyelids open once more, his shadowed furniture is etched clearly and his bed is bathed in the blue-red neon lights streaming in from his shuttered windows.

Outside, the world is howling. In 2068, Tokyo is an architectural melting pot. Tracing designs from every nook and cranny of the galaxy, the cluster of skyscrapers blots out the natural sky. Flying automobiles and drones of various sizes manoeuvre through the aerial pathways. The incessant whir they spread, perfectly merges in the background with the omnipresent rain. Torrential or misty, the rain here doesn't wash away the filth. It doesn't banish the soot and despair from the streets below or the arched walkways up above. Instead, it adds more grimy layers. Like a fluorescent blanket masking this decay, gaudy billboards and holographic advertisements rise by hundreds. Their effulgent lights radiate so strong, sometimes they reach even those forlorn city parts at the bottom of the world; the slums

Tonight, the redhead is venturing there again.

Wedged between the fringes of the slums and the lowest bridge of the bustling metropolis, “The Wailing Orca” has been an infamous watering hole for swingers and night owls. Hunched over its dented copper bar top, Rin sullenly shuffles through his phone.

“Hard night?”

The bartender passes him a scotch on the rocks. Rin peers into its golden brown hue and gives it a swirl, before gulping it down.

“Another one.”

The blond man smiles meekly and reaches for the bottle again. His scouting eyes register the unusual scribble on the inside of Rin's wrist.

“Interesting tattoo.”

Instinctively, Rin runs his thumb over the enigmatic word branding his skin.

“Trifles of youth.”

“You are still pretty young...” the bartender falters, searching for a name on the dog tag hanging from Rin's neck. Like a reflex, the redhead slides the metal back inside his shirt.

“You're looking at the wrong tag.” He pulls his leather jacket aside just a notch, revealing a badge pinned above his clothed pecs.

“...officer Matsuoka.” This time the blond bloke completes his sentence and raises a well-groomed eyebrow in appreciation.

Rin decides to bite the bait. The corners of his lips stretch up enough to reveal an alluringly sharp grin.

“So, are you new here?”

“I left the Australian spaceport three months ago. Been working here ever since.”

A slight frown creases Rin's forehead.

“Weird. I don't remember you...Then again, I'm not always sober when I show up.”

“Let's hope you won't forget me now then.”

The bartender clinks his own glass to Rin's and the natural hunter inside the redhead automatically loses interest. He hates it when they make it too easy for him, his jaws always treasure a challenge. Switching his focus to his mobile again, his fingers swiftly skim over the glossy screen. The characteristic dull sound echoes through the line, each ringing clouding over his handsome face.

“Life has been so much easier with the biophones. Signal problems are almost retro.”

“Yeah, well, I don't fancy a stupid microchip under my skin. Any booth still around here?”

“Backstreet alley. Straight down the hallway leading to the toilets, then turn left before the kitchen.”

Rin exits into a veil of fog, spreading throughout an alley straight like a drinking straw and almost as narrow. At the end of it, a red phone-booth stands semi-wrecked amidst the pool of sickly light shed by a lamppost. There are still a few dozens of them around the slums, serving a network repaired by the renegades as a literal “fuck you” towards the group of corporations ruling the city; the Syndicate. Inside the booth, Rin takes out an old photo, its corners fading into sepia. For a second stagnant in time, his cold fingertips caress the burgundy locks framing the beautiful face smiling back at him. Using the hack with the old coin and the string, he stirs the ancient machine back to life and nervously clicks the familiar sequence of numbers.

“Come on, pick it up.”

The ringing is left to reverberate in the dead of night.

When Rin returns into the cramped bar, he looks like a man defeated by fate. He slips back onto his swivel stool and taps the coarse counter.

“One more. And make it double.”

The bartender gestures at the forgotten photograph next to his mobile.

“Your girlfriend?”

Rin takes a generous swig of his drink, his nostrils flaring up as the burning sensation soothes his throat again.

“My sister.”

“The genes run in the family.”

The glass rests empty again and Rin is already motioning for a refill.

“Slow down there, officer, at this rate you'll definitely forget me.” The man jokes, his teeth tugging suggestively at his lower lip.

“Tell me a story then and I won't.” Rin retorts, in a vain attempt to busy his mind. The young bartender purses his lips, pondering for a second.

“Do you know how this bar took its name?”, he pauses, searching in Rin's eyes for an answer, before he continues, “Cause of its location. Stuck on the verge of the skid rows, touching the upper town. It's an oxymoron. Like the wailing orca who was afraid of the ocean. Legend has that, once upon a time, there was such a being. He wanted to swim with his friends but he was too scared of the sea. One night, he almost drowned. Can you picture it? An orca drowning? Thus all he could do was to stand at the beach and wail...Those who frequent the bar long to move higher up where they feel they belong, yet they remain stranded here. And all they can do every night is sit where you are and weep.”

“Somehow I feel like I have heard this tale countless times before.”

“Perhaps...” the man chuckles. “It's a fascinating one.”

“The sea is. Like everything else that is extinct.”

Rin flips his cell phone open again, leafing through the various photos of the infinite sea he has saved. All of them artificial memories downloaded from advertisements aiming to sell their virtual vacations. He's about to show the blond stud his favourite deceptive seascape when someone accidentally stumbles on him. The sudden contact knocks the cell phone off his hand.

“Asshole...” Rin mutters at the nameless man vanishing into the crowd “...It's a good thing they used to make them sturdy back in the day.”

He falls down to his knees and crawls through the tight opening below the counter. He spots his overused device next to another stool. And as his hand reaches for it, the first shot pierces the sultry air.

What follows is the epitome of Chaos itself.

A barrage of laser shots surges through the place like a hailstorm, each beam ripping into something, be it inanimate or living. The blazing rays are so many, that it feels like the dim bar has just been showered in vengeful daylight. A cacophony of smashing bottles and horrifying screams spreads over the – until one minute ago deafening – music, as everyone rushes to flee in panic.

With his hand firmly locked around his gun and an array of curses escaping his mouth, Rin keeps crawling along the counter. When he reaches its end, he cautiously emerges from the corner to take a peek behind it. The smiling bartender is now an empty shell soaking in blood. With the corner of his crimson eye, Rin catches a glimpse of several men clad in balaclavas dashing up the spiral staircase leading to a pseudo floor.

“Fucking yakuza”

Without a second thought, he bolts after them, scrambling over capsized chairs and fallen bodies. Through a small door, he leaps out and onto a midsection just below the blackened roofs. He can hear them scampering one level above him, their boots chiming against the mains. Shrilling sirens have flooded the ghetto and he lifts his gaze upwards to the space police cruisers cleaving through the rain in high speed.

“Damn, they're already here?”

Trapped between the mildewed walls, Rin eventually grabs onto a large pipe and starts pulling himself up, his strong thighs and athletic body coming in handy. But as soon as he ascends to the next level, an unexpected scene unfolds before him. The gang members have been clashing with a hooded man and one after the other are rendered unconscious. Clad in a dark blue sweater and a pair of simple jeans, the mysterious stranger displays a high skill in martial arts, kicking their guns off their hands and avoiding the subsequent flying punches with ease. When the last one of them collapses on the roof, the outsider turns around slowly, his focus aligning with Rin. Below the pouring rain, his sight is uncanny. The blue hood conceals his face, making it strike as an abysmal gap. The water smacks hard his well-toned yet thin limbs, but he doesn't seem to mind. He remains perfectly calm.

On the other hand, Rin's heart has started a riot. Overwhelmed by the man's obscure presence, the fiery redhead knows he has only fragments of a second to think. Having witnessed him fighting with his own red eyes, he predicts he'll lose any type of physical combat. The distance between them is his sole advantage. So he does what any cornered cop would do in his shoes; he quickly aims at a non-vital spot and pulls the trigger.

Half a second later, Rin's jaw almost hits the ground as he watches the outsider easily dodging the laser shot as if it was a ball thrown in slow motion. He doesn't manage to charge his gun a second time. In the blink of an eye, the man is breathing inches from Rin's face, his grip tightening so solidly around his wrist, that the redhead can almost hear his bones shatter.

And yet, Rin feels no pain. Because whatever sense the hot-blooded officer possesses has now fallen captive of the most otherworldly eyes he has ever seen. Two sparkling azure gems whose ghostly glow can penetrate his mind's fortress. Time slackens as they share an almost soul-searching moment. Until the stranger headbutts him hard, saturating Rin's vision with blackness.

  
_He is standing on the beach, watching the sea expanding indefinitely, a navy tapestry dotted with stars. He thinks he is alone, but he is wrong. Two shady figures with distorted faces are several feet away, gazing also at the immense ocean. And one of them is crying._

_23...24...25..._

Rin's eyelids tremble and, this time, the headache raids in faster than before. It takes him several minutes to grasp the reality surrounding him; he's back to his bleak flat, on his very own drenched with sweat bedsheets and, no, the incident at the seedy bar hasn't been a product of his imagination. A glaring red light is swirling like a whirlpool, bouncing off the walls and eliciting the reedy sound that has probably stirred him awake. Outside, the rain intensifies.

With a groan, he slips off the bed. While he approaches the police emergency pager, he twists and tests his wrist. It still hurts, but at least nothing feels broken. As the holographic message pops up, two striking golden eyes are forming before him, followed by a familiar, Stentorian voice.

“At last, Matsuoka, rise and shine!”

In less than an hour, Rin is sitting across a very thoughtful Commissioner Mikoshiba Seijuurou, up on the eleventh floor of Tokyo PD. The police department is housed in a suspending tower at Tokyo's second zone, owned by the Syndicate. Toothpick between gums and legs spread, Rin is gently wobbling his chair from side to side. Finally, the intimidating copperhead entwines his hands beneath his chin and holds his subordinate's gaze.

“How is your sister doing, Matsuoka?”

“Fine as usual. She busies herself between work and looking after our mother at Sano's clinic.”

“And when was the last time you visited the clinic yourself?”

“I don't remember.” Rin shrugs. “Two or three weeks ago.”

“Maybe four.”

Seijuurou scoffs and Rin nods in agreement.

“Or maybe four.”

“Well, it's none of my business how you deal with your family. Last time I was interested in one of its members, you turned to a raging bull. So...” Mikoshiba momentarily meets Rin's scowl with a wide grin, before his face instantly hardens “...why don't you tell me what happened down there?”

“You tell me. All I know is I was drinking my poison, minding my own business off duty, when the place turned to a battlefield.”

“It appears to have been some settling of scores in the yakuza.”

“Thought so.”

Seijuurou leans back to his executive lounger, stretching his endless body.

“You know, normally, I would have let this slip. The boys up there don't really care about little vendettas going on around the slums. But this time those morons left quite a few corpses behind them, so I can't exactly archive the case.”

“I'm surprised anyone got out of there alive. The bar looked like a graveyard.”

“Actually more than you think did. But all failed to see the mobsters. So we have no close witnesses, apart from the very man who chased them down.”

Rin straightens his back.

“Captain, they were all masked, I barely saw any faces. As soon as I got on that roof, I was knocked out. And then I woke up on my bed, with a bruise on my forehead.”

“You say you were knocked out. So did you try to fight them and they beat you or-”

“No,” Rin interrupts him “there was someone else on that roof. Some guy in a hood that wasn't with the yakuza. He was the one that actually beat all of us with his bare hands.”

Seijuurou's eyes shrink into spheres of gold, visibly intrigued.

“A mysterious avenger. Can you describe him?”

“Average height, 5'8'' maybe 5'9''. Dark blue sweater with a hood, a pair of jeans and sneakers. I couldn't make out his face, it was too dark. But his eyes...” Rin chuckles, shaking his head still in awe “...damn his eyes were like headlights. I've never seen such a haunting blue before.”

“And this guy beat a bunch of armed men, you included.”

“I mean, I did fire at him once. But he evaded like he was fucking Neo and we were re-enacting the Matrix. Captain, if you want my opinion, there's only one logical explanation behind this.”

“A replicant.”

The word fell like an anvil into the small office.

“You know, when the reinforces found you unconscious on that roof, you were alone. I believe the attack on you was coincidental, you were hit because you interfered. Yet that guy, replicant probably, for whatever reason hits a whole group of mobsters without killing anyone, even though he could snap their necks with his fingers anytime he wanted. Instead, he just knocks them out and leaves. What happened to them? Did someone take them? They left alone?”

Seijuurou ends up wondering aloud, pensively rubbing his chin with his thumb.

“Alright then!” he exclaims after five minutes of silence “Matsuoka, I want you to carefully take a look at something.”

With the press of a button, the 3D screen behind him lights up. The rendered image of a tall man with chestnut hair and amber eyes begins to rotate.

“Two years ago, a group of A-class replicants deserted their positions and disappeared from intergalactic station C. All of them highly trained specialists shouldering responsibilities whose full extent only the Syndicate knows. Ever since, there have been some small-scale attacks, mostly here in Tokyo, against targets run by the Syndicate and its affiliated companies. There's no confirmation yet that these incidents are linked to those stray replicants, but there are reasons to believe they are involved. Behind me, you're looking at Kirishima Natsuya. An adept hacker and, until two years ago, the senior commander of the replicant guard defending the Alliance's borders at station C.”

Momentarily, the pixels of the projected image scatter into a swarm of holographic dots, before morphing again into a new face.

“This is Serizawa Nao. Natsuya's second in command, also originally dispatched at station C. An extremely resourceful A.I. , excelling in bioengineering.”

“You're telling me that for two whole years, the entire Force of the Alliance is unable to locate these androids?”

“You'll be surprised how challenging it is to outsmart a replicant. These beings are perfect concepts in every meaning of the word.”

“Still...” Rin persists, a brushstroke of anger and contempt evident in his voice “humans made them. At the end of the day, no one can surpass their creator.”

The succession of faces and data continues for a few more minutes, as various replicants that, apparently, were once the cream of the crop parade before Rin's thunderstruck eyes. When the screen darkens again, Seijuurou glances at the redhead full of anticipation.

“Do you identify your mysterious avenger among them?”

“Negative, Captain Mikoshiba. Those eyes have been imprinted on my memory. I would recognize them anywhere....Anywhere.”

“Hmm, I had a sliver of hope, but...very well. Matsuoka Rin” uttered by Seijuurou's lips, his name resonates into the minimalistic office with a certain gravity“ from this moment, just like your predecessors and several other peers in the Force, you're also assigned to the 'High Speed' case. This is how the incident with the stray replicants is officially classified, named after the patrol ship they used to flee.”

Rin spits a bark of a laughter before his muscles grow rigid.

“Captain, with all the respect, I don't think I'm the most suita-”

“I didn't finish, did I? Wait for a second to hear the whole of it and don't interrupt me. I am assigning you to “High Speed” because my instinct tells me the cases are related, however, for now, you will focus on this mysterious replicant that blew your mind off.”

A tinge of pink sears through his cheeks and the redhead is more irritated that his reaction isn't skipped by the experienced chief.

“Besides, there's one more reason I want you in this, Matsuoka. I know you hate the replicants. A whole year has passed, and Yamazaki's dog tag is still hanging from your neck.”

This time, Rin averts his fogged gaze. His clenched knuckles pale out, his jaw muscles contract.

“I can use the fire sparking up from that hatred.”

“Just give me a lead. Tell me where to start.”

“Well, what about going back to the very place you met him?”

Determined, Matsuoka Rin stands up. Adrenaline already makes his blood pump, but contrary to what his chieftain thinks, it isn't triggered solely by his deep hatred. Before he embarks on this new task, Seijuurou summons him one last time.

“Oh, Matsuoka, there's something else. I believe you will also need this.”

He places an ebony case onto the glossy desk and carefully uses his thumb to deactivate its biometric lock. Unsheathed, a fearsome handgun with a titanium shaft lies before him. Its shining carbonite barrel emits a faint yet eerie blue haze with every charge. Nestled neatly atop the bridge is a state of the art laser targetting scope, turning even a novice marksman into a competent gunslinger.

“May I present you AR Pacifier 3000.”

Rin has already blinked several times.

“What does it do?” he asks sheepishly, crossing Seijuurou's triumphant grin.

“The question is what doesn't it do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: PART II. CHASE


	2. CHASE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize it took me so long to post this, I entered a very busy period in my life which prevented me from updating any of my stories or writing a new one, plus I ended up re-writing this chapter. I plan on finishing this fic, regardless.

Part II: Chase

* * *

The water forks in brooks down Rin's cheeks, chilling the skin and chasing away any residue of sleep. He has been standing barechest before the rectangular mirror but his mind doesn't notice his reflection; his fingers are hastily searching for the soap command. As soon as he presses the virtual SAKURA sign, the tap spits out a dribble of something gooey and sickly rose. Simultaneously, a young woman materializes behind the glass. She gleefully inhales the soap's invisible scent, before proceeding in buzzing his ears about the new bath set he must purchase. At least she's more pleasant than the human Ken doll who bares his flashy teeth everytime the redhead clicks for some toothpaste.  
  
Water streams out of the tap again, its gurgling sound flooding the bathroom's emptiness. Because, apart from a shower hollow, the metallic basin and a toilet bowl of stainless steel, there's really nothing else. From fresh water and shampoo palettes to steaming heat for rapid drying, everything flows out of one single source. Every need is a command on the mirror, every command is an advertisement on how to expand the need. Faces and numbers constantly flash all around in Rin's sight, but the most irritating of them are the scantily clothed women inducing him to wank every time he whips out his dick to take a piss.  
  
Sometimes, when the synthetic sakura fragrance burns his nostrils, he shuts his eyes away from the brainwashing commercials and, behind his trembling lids, the images turn to photographs.  
  
_“Ha! I win!”  
  
“Damn it!”  
  
Rin's triumphant chuckle soared over their pants and he momentarily closed his eyes against the gentle breeze. It swept the delicate petals off the wild grass in little whirlwinds of pink, making them flutter like butterflies around their feet. The rose bloom had arrived like a cake frosting on the trees and from afar, a young voice echoed through the cherry blossom grove.  
  
“Onii-chan! Sousuke-kun!”  
  
“Over here, Gou!...So, ready to run again, or are you tired already?” Rin taunted his friend and the red gleamed mischievously below his batting eyelashes.  
  
“Who's tired?! I'd rather race you in swimming though.”  
  
Rin pondered for a second, his baby thumb tugging his bottom lip.  
  
“We can use the school's pool. But I like it here too, I like the cherry blossoms.” He giggled again, a light blush powdering his cheeks, an awkward hand rubbing the back of his neck “I kinda want to combine them.”  
  
Sapphire eyes widened in revelation. The breeze suddenly got stronger.  
  
“Oi, Rin, would you like that? Would you like swimming in a pool full of cherry blossoms?”  
  
_ A stinging headache tosses Rin back to reality. Bleary eyes set on the tarnished dog tag in the mirror. It is wiggling on his duplicate's chest, as if , just now, a ghost gently fiddled it to motion. His face stretches to a hurtful grimace.  
  
“I should probably take a break.”  
  
_“Burnt out at work? Fed up with routine?”_ a wayfarer hums the unwanted answer _“Waste time no more! Check out now our virtual packages and find your ideal destina-”_  
  
“Oh, fuck off.”  
  
The mirror falls in silence only when Rin exits the bathroom. Despite his feeble hopes, there are no unread messages blinking on his phone and a second curse escapes his mouth. On his nightstand, the credit stamps for the rent are folded inside a white envelop. Pain hammers into his head, cause he can't recall putting it there. He rummages through his clean shirts until he digs up a black, V-neck top that accentuates his pecs. It's ironic how stylish he used to be. His dark, shearling trench coat with the artificial fur is waiting for him on a hook behind the door. A lopsided smirk flickers on his fine lips; it's going to be an interesting day.  
  
Two floors below, Rin is knocking on his landlady's withered door. The seconds roll away without a response. Above the doorframe, the indicator lamp flares in a hazy emerald revealing the living presence inside the apartment. The knocking turns into banging.  
  
“Come on! I know you're in there....you old hag...” his last words slide in a murmur. Eventually, Rin clicks his tongue and bends to a squat, hastily shoving the envelop under the door. Residents like her deserve this inhuman city. That's his only thought.  
  
Thirty minutes later, Rin's boot sloshes into a puddle at the slums, sending droplets of muddy water scattering. Today, the rain is plummeting even more viciously, but down there the streets are always busy. Instead of the usual patrol, he detects a couple of Syndicate guards cruising around, their glowing batons giving them away from miles afar. Their stern appearance makes him wonder just how much control over the situation the Tokyo PD and Mikoshiba himself still maintain. Ensuring their routes won't cross, he veers under a shed and his gaze closes down sideways on a ragged beggar who seems to have found shelter there. A sodden credit stamp sticks out of his half open palm while he himself looks asleep. Rin cocks a snide eyebrow and soundlessly stretches his arm towards the crumbled paper. But before his fingers can even brush it, a firm grip on his wrist suddenly halts his plan.  
  
“Hold it, you assho-.....oooh, well look at that, the rain just washed down a shark. Did you miss me, Matsuoka?”  
  
“I've told you not to call me by name around here. These dirty walls have ears.”  
  
“Mhm...and I own the best pair. So...” cunning brown eyes twinkle expectedly “...do you have anything for me?”  
  
Rin pulls his hand away and snorts at the man's tattered sight. Delving into his trench coat's deep pocket, he draws out a small pack of credit stamps and waves them before the tramp's furrowed face. Derogatorily known as “the money of the poor” in a world where everything is electronic, citizens of the lower classes would exchange those stamps for credits added to their digital wallets. Just another way for the Syndicate to control and segregate their miserable lives. For the beggar, the pack shines like an one-way ticket to paradise. Below the greasy tufts of blond facial hair, he exposes two rows of decayed teeth and black gaps.  
  
“It depends on what you have for me”, the redhead states flatly.  
  
“There's a new drug cartel trying to take charge of some minor clubs. Rumour has it that they're funded by some higher up to weed out the renegades.”  
  
“Drug trafficking in the slums, who knew?” Rin scoffs.  
  
“Last night the bishop's right hand at the Russian cosmodrome was caught entering a cathouse along with several ladyboys.”  
  
“In this godless city, do I look like a gossip column?”  
  
“Well, there's also the bloodbath at 'The Wailing Orca', but you already know that. You were there.” Tha man's repulsive smile further dimples his cheeks. “How did you get out of there without a scratch? Do sharks have nine lives too?"  
  
Rin lowers himself closer to the beggar , his voice abandoning its sarcastic tint and deepening a notch.  
  
“That night, did you notice any new faces wandering the streets around the bar?”  
  
“You know, booze makes everyone's face look familiar.”  
  
“What about the previous nights? Or the next day? Have you heard anything about a stranger in denim and a navy hood?”  
  
The informant shrugs his shoulders helplessly.  
  
“That could be anyone.”  
  
Rin pauses for a second, his crimson eyes scanning the tramp up and down before holding his brown gaze anew.  
  
“What do you know about the replicants?”  
  
Before him, the craggy face clouds over.  
  
“Wha-what could I know about those cy-cyborgs? They are soldiers. We mostly see their broken trash down here.”  
  
“You know well I'm not asking you about them. Come on, you must have heard something. Weren't you owning the best pair of ears two minutes ago?”  
  
A muscle twitches involuntarily on the whistleblower's left temple. Flakes of skin peel off as grubby fingernails scratch his knuckles, a nervous tick he bears since young. His dubious gaze darts past Rin, scouring the road up and down for any prying eyes behind the curtains of rain and scraps of metal, before he leans in.  
  
“There's been some fuss in the outskirts. Mostly break-ins and a couple of blow-ups, but everyone's scared as fuck and keeps their mouth shut. The word on the street blames those replicants that ran off a while back. The drifters.”  
  
“You aren't telling me anything I can't find in the police reports.”  
  
“Wait. The targets were secret labs, most operating as something else for cover. The big boys must be pissed. Hell, I don't even care if those bloody droids are behind them, imagining the Syndicate bastards losing it warms me up.”  
  
“Terrorists. Those synths are nothing more than plain terrorists.”  
  
Low and menacing, Rin's voice booms under the roaring rain, making the old beggar cower in his shreds.  
  
“Easy there, sharkboy, I'm on your side, remember?”  
  
“I'm wasting my time.”  
  
“Wait, wait! Damn it...” his hand desperately latches on to the redhead's trenchcoat, effectively pulling him back to his level, “... there's someone who probably knows more about those replicants. And maybe about that guy you're looking for.”  
  
“Go on.”  
  
“He's an android himself. Of the, let's say, retired bunch. The only problem is you have to go down below to find him. He's always around the Scrubs.”  
  
The Scrubs. A red lights district buried in the lower belt of the slums, notorious for its illegal gambling and the bargains of the flesh. However, its most controversial aspect is found among its impoverished denizens; a lot of them are replicants. Models defective or damaged beyond repair, those dregs of their dysfunctional society have found refuge in the depths of the skid rows, counting the days to their end. The mere idea of venturing again into a hole full of replicants makes Rin's insides squirm. And yet, the desire to meet once more the transcendental, azure radiance oozing from those moonlit eyes is overpowering.  
  
“What does he look like? How will I know it's him when I see him?”  
  
A sibilant snicker rises from the informant's throat. Its sound is almost sinister. “Oh, trust me, you just will.”  
  
Rin straightens his back, a crease of amusement playing at the corner of his lips. The pack of credit stamps curves into the air and vanishes below the beggar's layers of tattered clothes, before it hits the ground.  
  
“Keep your eyes and ears open. Oh and, Goro, get a haircut. I kinda miss that weird star you sported.”

The moment Rin lays eyes on the replicant, he knows. Just like old Goro has said. Down at the Scrubs, the air is stifling, as if Life has dumped there its corpse. Stalked by hookers and dicers, the streets are a monochrome of mud. The rain has shaped into blobs of sludge, steadily seeping through the level above. The sidewalks are littered with cardboard sleeping bags and rawboned junkies inject themselves in plain sight. The only splash of colour in the grime comes from the lurid graffiti and the hazy shades of red cast by the brothels' lanterns.  
  
Within this dejected scene, the replicant gleams briefly like a beacon in the distance. Among the faceless figures, his rosy shine quivers, emulating the neon lights of the first zone and infiltrating the alleys of soot. He's a pastel brushstroke on the endless smudge. Clad in skinny jeans and a pink fur jacket striped with PVC paneling, he's leaning against a wall covered in ripped posters. Knee bent and boot flat on the bricks, his head is slightly tilted in a suggestive pose that invites every passer-by to his punk-rock world. As Rin is getting closer, the replicant's features become clearer. His polished nails alternate in black and cotton candy, while golden stardust is sprinkled on the top of his cheekbones. Messy, bubblegum hair almost grazes his right shoulder whereas, at the opposite side, his subtle undercut ends up in a single, fuchsia feather dangling from his earlobe. Walking the line between being a man and a woman, the replicant's androgynous style is so dazzling that, if Rin didn't already know, he would remain dazed and confused. It is said that only such heavenly beings like the angels can be genderless. But so is Satan.  
  
“Hey, sugar, have a light?”  
  
Rin raises an eyebrow at the corny line and flicks a lighter at the unlit cigarette pending between the man's lips. Its end crinkles and shrivels.  
  
“Replicants aren't scared of cancer and the like, are they?”  
  
“There is no such thing as a disease if you are already dead in four years”, the android jokes mordibly and blows out a slow jet of smoke. “What's with the scribble?”  
  
Rin glances at the tattoo on his wrist and pulls his sleeve further down.  
  
“I get this question a lot. I was probably drunk when I got it.”  
  
“We, replicants, are born with three words marking our skin. Unlike this random writing, the words on my flesh do make sense. We are supposed to treat them as our mantra.”  
  
The fur jacket slips off the android's shoulder, exposing a pale, hairless chest. Around his pierced left nipple, three words are interlaced, forming a tribal circle. Obey. Serve. Kisumi.  
  
“Kiss me?” Rin reads puzzled.  
  
“With tongue will cost you more”, the man playfully winks at the frowned redhead. “I was brought to life to obey the humans and serve their urges. The pun on the name given to me was just the cherry atop the cake.”  
  
“It's a fun name for a synth.”  
  
At the sound of the disparaging comment, Kisumi's foxy eyes narrow mischievously.  
  
“I assure you, there are a lot of fun things the body of this _synth_ can do. But something tells me you are not here to get disciplined...officer.”  
  
Rin's face darkens.  
  
“How did you know I'm a cop?”  
  
“You all bear the same glowering mug and sweaty scent when you sneak down here.”  
  
Seijuurou Mikoshiba's words resonate within Rin's mind. Outsmarting a replicant is not a child's play, even if he's dealing with the sediment of their kin. Delving into the indigo of Kisumi's eyes, he decides that getting down to brass tacks is the best approach.  
“Alright then, you got me, next time I'll wear my happy face and use more deodorant -”  
  
“I like the smell of cherry blossoms, it suits you.”  
  
“Too bad I can't say the same about your cheap cologne. Let's cut the crap, you know why I'm here.”  
  
“I do not.”  
  
“Those replicants, the ones everyone in the slums calls the Drifters. What can you tell me about them?”  
  
“Nothing the Tokyo PD does not already know. I do not belong to their group.”  
  
“This is bold. You have access to our files?”  
  
“You may be surprised how many of your colleagues are my clients.”  
  
A feeling of disgust creeps behind Rin's eyes and he blinks in order to shake it off.  
  
“You've heard about the slaughter at “The Wailing Orca”. That night, someone from your kind butted in. Unlike you, he looked like a stranger to the neighbourhood. 5'8'' feet tall, lean but quite athletic. Blue sweater, jeans and sneakers. Like a schoolboy on his spring break. He always has his hood up. Silent type. Do you know him?”  
  
“I may be faulty, but I still have the capacity of memorizing faces and quotes of every individual I've ever talked to.”  
  
"And?"  
  
“And he isn't one of them.”  
  
Rin curses inwardly. Either he's completely out of luck or that bubblegum libertine is too much of a hard shell to crack. Immediately, a light bulb goes off in his head.  
  
“You didn't say the same about the Drifters though. So you do personally know them.”  
  
“I never said I didn't.”  
  
With the first signs of irritation shadowing his radiant features, Rin steps into the replicant's personal space, only to be rudely greeted by another puff of smoke.  
  
“You're toying with me.”  
  
“You are not asking the right questions, sugar.”  
  
"How did you get to know them?"  
  
Kisumi cranes back his neck. Frizzy pink mane brushes against the stained posters, jaw loosens, lids hover lower. His Adam apple bobs up and down and Rin follows its subtle jounce, without sensing his own lips part.  
  
“People are hesitant to talk about them now, many are scared after the rumours about the bombing attacks, but it has not always been like this. When they had first escaped, their faces and names were all over the huge video walls around the first zone. Regular alerts about the runaways would break in. Even though the Syndicate appeared to have the situation under control, it was still hard to miss them. But -” Kisumi falters, the thin wrinkles suddenly ruffling Rin's forehead not passing by unnoticed, “ How strange! You do not remember this at all.”  
  
“Keep talking.” Rin coughs, slightly uncomfortable with his own memory gaps.  
  
“This is what I'm doing.”  
  
“Well, not about me! So what happened? Did you bump into them as fugitives?”  
  
“No. I already knew them.”  
  
Kisumi's gaze deviates towards the pitiful patch of grey sky that is still visible through all the sheets of metal and concrete.  
  
“I have a brother, you see. Up there. He works on mechatronics at the same station. The station C.”  
  
The seconds crawl in silence.  
  
“You did not expect it, did you?” the replicant's blithe pitch almost surprises Rin, “How come a flawed, retired trash like myself can have such a brilliant, advanced unit for a younger brother?”  
  
“A...brother?”  
  
“Oh right. This is your kind's sense of humour. No womb brings us to this world, yet you apply degrees of consanguinity on us. You name us brothers and sisters. And then you watch us believe it.”  
  
On the carcass of a solar-powered mobile, a malfunctioning bipedal robot emits an oscillating sound. Once the pride of old generation humanoid cleaners up the office buildings and behemoths of Tokyo, it is now mindlessly digging in slime and scrap. Someone salutes Kisumi in gutter gibberish from across the street, where the pavement cracks and a shady fellowship is flipping holographic decks of cards. The replicant smiles and sways his hips, a salacious gesture befitting a seasoned hooker. It is almost scandalous how this unemotional cyborg resembles any other mortal hustler, but Rin knows well everything is just a part of an electronic circuit. He can see the discipline beneath that gaudy look. He can sense the undercurrent of apathy behind the flirtatious words, the lack of discordance within the silky voice. Underneath his frivolity, Kisumi disassociates from his surroundings. Even while he was talking about his brother. Even now that he coyly tilts his head and gives the redhead a fluttering sidelong glance.  
  
“Has this...brother of yours ever experimented on a different type of replicants? Whose eyes have some unusual glow, perhaps they're even too bright to look at?”  
  
“I do not know. We haven't talked for a while.”  
  
“Listen, buddy.” Rin spits the words, pressing on. “I was tipped off about you for a reason.”  
  
“My reputation may be deceiving.”  
  
“Playing dumb in every other question won't get you far.”  
  
“How far can anyone go with a four years lifespan? Besides, what does even make you think the replicant you are looking for was ever on station C?”  
  
“But the Drifters were. And you used to know them. These two years they are on a run, but they can't have vanished. The earth didn't swallow them. If they are not in the upper zones, then they have come down here, haven't they?”  
  
“They have.”  
  
“Where? When?!”  
  
“Show me your ass.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
A deep vertical line separates Rin's brows, as if an invisible force smacked him upside the head and he hasn’t quite recovered.  
  
“Essentially the time I'm spending talking to you is working hours for me. I could be fucking someone now. Unless you can pay me, sugar, I'd like something in return too.”  
  
“We can always continue our chat down at the interrogation room of Tokyo PD, would your pretty face like that in return?” Rin yanks the queer man by his pink jacket, causing his cigarette butt to drop and the remaining ashes to scatter on the fluffy fur. “So, why don't you stop with the claptrap, and tell me where your friends are?”  
  
“They are not my friends.”  
  
“Mates? Partners? Same pieces of shit? Pick one and tell me where the fuck they are.”  
  
“I'm afraid you're missing something. I was never programmed to understand friendship. It was never a relationship type needed in my area of expertise.”  
  
“Let me guess, those horrible humans again”, Rin scoffs.  
  
“Ironically, it's through my contact with humans that I've gathered data of what the word may mean. And you're quite confused yourselves. I've been called a friend by strangers who rushed to apologize after knocking into me down the street. I've been called a friend by remorsed husbands who regressed to tears, after spending an hour with me balls-deep inside them. I've witnessed friends pointing guns to each other over a game of poker. And then, I've seen friends who just can't let go, like you...”  
  
Daringly, Kisumi's index finger loiters over the engraved letters on Rin's exposed dog tag. As if a feeble thread within his mind just snapped, the redhead jerks the pendant away from the android's rude touch. And as those glaring, crimson eyes dig like a knife into the ribs, the truth quits lying in secrecy. Before the revelation, Kisumi's face sparkles.  
  
“Oh my... for you, it has never been about arresting any criminals. You actually hate us.”  
  
“Don't.”  
  
It is too late though. Basking in the power of the upper hand, the devious replicant is already running a thumb along Rin's clenched jawline and purring by his right ear. Each venomous word conceals a snicker and his surprisingly warm breath scorches the skin like a branding iron.  
  
“You were there, weren't you? Of course you were. But you didn't arrive on time. What did we do? Did we treat your friend well?”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Don't you wish you had got there five minutes earlier? Don't you wish you were there when he was calling your name? When, in his last breaths, he lifted his eyes and all he saw was...us?”  
  
“Shut the fuck up!”  
  
Rin slams Kisumi into the coarse wall, the latter's back crushing with a thud. Veins swelling across his neck, shark fangs gritting out of control, Rin's face has twitched into something atrocious. Even though it is futile, his hands refuse to stop squeezing Kisumi's windpipe. And yet, it is uncertain what is more deterring; the shadows of the alarmed hoodlums circling them ready to intervene or the placid smile with which Kisumi braces fear?  
  
Rin takes a step back, his hands falling powerless by his sides.  
  
“Screw this.”  
  
The heat of a dozen pairs of eyes bears down on him as he walks away. Anyone else in his place would at least feel his skin starting to prickle, but Rin is too far engrossed in the vexing of his soul; his rage. Never a stranger to the sentiment, the hot-tempered officer has had nicks fixed to his name for years. But, today, his clinging onto the past has allowed the enemy to see through the cloud of his judgment. And, right now, Rin is a nasty sight. Despite captain Mikoshiba's hopes, for the first time anger doesn't boost Rin's potency. It trammels it. But the redhead doesn't want to deal with his emotional deadend. Actually, he doesn't want to deal with any of this or _them_ . He doesn't need their dirt on his boots. The bewitching replicant is still out there. And Rin “Mad Shark” Matsuoka will unearth his mystery alone if he has to.  
  
“He was with them.”  
  
The front of Rin's boots wedges in the murky puddles. He scouts over his shoulder, face darkened, eyes still wild.  
  
“What did you just say?”  
  
“The guy you're after. He came with the Drifters.”  
  
In three strides, Rin is once again pinning the insidious replicant against the bricks.  
  
“Hey now, sugar, if you keep being so pushy, I won't pull the leash of these boys twice.”  
  
Alerted of the rugged faces closing in, Rin eases his grip on Kisumi and tucks away the urge to let the barrel of his gun cauterize the cheeky tongue before him.  
  
“A moment ago your lips were sealed. If this is a sick game of yours -”  
  
“I was going to answer your questions if you showed me your ass. Which you did, so-”  
  
“I did what?”  
  
Kisumi lets a snort of amusement.  
  
“If accurately calibrated to a nearby object, my eyes operate as ocular scanners. All I needed was for you to turn around. The training at the Force has surely paid off, officer.”  
  
Rin watches Kisumi's appreciative gaze fleetly seesawing to his lower half and percolating up to a devilish eyebrow quirk. It leaves him aghast. Enjoying the redhead's reaction, the replicant pops a stick of gum in his mouth. A bubble billows between them, rivaling the colour of his hair. It takes Rin several wordless seconds to master the last remnants of his patience.  
  
“Why should I believe you now? Earlier you told me you've never met a synth like him.”  
  
“No, I said that he is not among the people I've talked to. And it's true, he just stood behind the rest, with his hands shoved in his sweater's pocket. Never uttering a word, he seemed unfriendly. Distant. But you're right about his eyes. How could I forget them?”  
  
“However, you talked to the others. What did they want?”  
  
“They were out on a recruitment spree. Approaching the broken units of the Scrubs, cajoling us into joining their ranks. They didn't stay for long though. They are aware of the increased controls, even down here at Tokyo's junkyard.”  
  
“So, they must be up to something big if they waited two years to expose themselves like this. They are manning their branches.” Rin ponders aloud . “Like a true group of terrorists.”  
  
“It's hopeless. Their plans are doomed to fail. They pursue knowledge beyond their potential. They descend here and pompously speak about notions they do not understand. How could feelings ever improve us? They will only help us rot.”  
  
“Feelings?” Rin snickers, “I was under the impression that synths cannot feel.”  
  
The amethyst in Kisumi's eyes exults in its brilliance.  
  
“That's what I told them.”  
  
“How long it's been since the Drifters showed up? How many days?”  
  
“Days?” the cyborg chuckles and shakes his head at the human's ignorance, “You'd better be asking how many hours, sugar.”  
  
Rin feels his knees about to wobble. Instinctively, his head pivots all around, gaze shocked and impatient bouncing off shut doors and shady figures. The enigmatic replicant has been in this very gang turf all along. All along.  
  
“Perhaps they are still wandering around the Scrubs. If you hurry now, you might catch them up. You can thank me later.”  
  
Rin doesn't need to be told twice. He is back in the heart of the vile street and ready to bolt, when he stalls. His eyes search for Kisumi and they find him still there, mingling with the rest outcasts.  
  
“Oi, Kisumi. How come you're in this dump anyway? What's your defect?”  
  
For a second, there's an opaque hue enameling Kisumi's features, as if watercolours dissolved his expression into something abstract. And then, he bows lightly and silently meets the redhead with a smile. Rin thinks it is rather sad.  
  
For the next hour, Rin scours the entire district. Often at the expense of his own safety, as barging in whores' dens and knocking on seamy basements aren't exactly appreciated by the locals. The Scrubs aren't a vast quarter, yet his search is eventually proven fruitless. In the end, he is back to point zero. Exasperated, he takes out his cellphone and dials his sister's number. He is unsure how this will improve the situation, especially since she doesn't even answer his calls lately, but he hopes for a distraction. Pride prevents him from accepting he has probably just missed his suspect.  
  
And then, at perhaps the fourth or the fifth flat beep, he sees him. The hooded man is standing in a dank lane, so narrow that it can't even be called an alley. The buildings looming over him are so tight together, that any sizable fellow would look lodged between them. Still, Rin can almost swear that he combed the specific place twice already and both times the replicant wasn't there. Nevertheless, his crimson eyes don't deceive him now. The epicenter of his discomfort ever since that fateful night is right before him, in a few steps' reach. Unsuspecting, the stranger persistently stares at what seems to be an outdated poster about a traveling circus. That clue alone is quite odd, but Rin finds himself unable to coordinate his detective skills. As his feet gradually drag him to his target, an unprecedented hankering segues into the vortex of his emotions. It coats his anger, confuses his senses and leaves his step unstable. Conflicting thoughts gallop through his mind; should he pull his gun already or should he try to ambush him? Are his allies hiding in the shadows or is he really alone?  
  
It is the replicant that hauls Rin out of his predicament, when he slowly shifts his attention to the redhead. Their gazes lock, water streaming into fire, and Rin is certain the palpitations that have been scaling up his throat, reverberate now throughout the whole neighbourhood. The electrified moment doesn't last. The android angles forward his unreadable face, like an enigmatic nod, and the next second he darts away.  
  
“Shit!”  
  
This time Rin pulls his revolver and hops on the replicant's trail. He rushes after him and out of the slender passage, but a scraggy, homeless man pulling a rusty trolley hampers his dash. Rin tumbles forward, cursing his luck. Staggering back to his feet, he spots the hooded man a second before he vanishes into a wide drainage chute. Entrance to an obsolete branch of Tokyo's sewers, the ascending tunnel leads away from the Scrubs and onto the higher sectors of the slums. The shaft is clogged and quite slippery, making Rin's knees plunge into the mire. Swearing and spitting, he finally clambers out . The exit hole is fenced by wire netting, rickety at the bottom right corner. Beyond it, one of the busiest districts of the slums pulses in its retro rhythm; the flea market.  
  
As soon as Rin slithers out, he gets overwhelmed by the ambience. The market is a multicultural canvas, teeming with people, smells and sounds. Sky lanterns shed a hazy, amber veil over the small booths, where merchants from all over the galaxy hawk their wares. Dark tents stretch high above, sheltering the streets from the perpetual rain. Dizzy glows carom off old trinkets and prismatic baubles, and from a wide stall the screeching of mechanical chickens grazes the ears. Romantic at heart, under different circumstances Rin would enjoy a nostalgic stroll through this vintage hubbub. Right now, however, everything is just another note in a suite of cacophony. Someone shoves an antique ipod in Rin's face, as the latter desperately swivels around, searching for the replicant. Soon, he notices a familiar navy hood peeking several heads away. After a huff of relief, he propels forward, elbowing his way through the crowd as the dealer's babbling about the bargain ebbs into the fuss. The cyborg has slowed down, unwilling to draw attention within such a jammed place, but this doesn't benefit Rin; the river of people is sweeping him backwards.  
  
The cogwheels in Rin's mind start spinning in high rate. With such a common outfit, it will be a miracle if he doesn't lose the stranger within the human torrent. He decides to scoot up a ramp railing that carries along the buildings' walls, several feet above the ground. From there, his view on the hooded man clears up and he stalks him until the market's fringes. The moment they stray away from the hustle and bustle, the replicant speeds off once more. At a darkened crossroads, he rushes towards the abandoned pagoda dominating a corner. The old temple is rising impressively high, its top levels fading into the rainbow blur that is the first zone. With enviable ease, he latches on the lowest eave and begins leaping from one tier to another, using the dragon pediments and the chinese lion gargoyles for support.

Rin watches him powerless. He attempts a shot, but the android's constant zigzag makes the bullet miss. Fortunately for him, someone must have slipped a four-leaf clover in his pocket, because a cluster of glass tubes is lined up in close distance. Those sensory platforms were often used to link the slums to the first zone through long pipes, though at least half of them are out of order now. The redhead hops on one and three seconds later, he skyrockets towards a medley of fluorescent rays. As a child, this sudden launch used to make him queasy.  
  
The first zone welcomes them chaotic, flamboyant and as hostile as ever. Here, the rain is merciless, drowning everything in its cold, wet shroud. Twisting metals, that form into high-rises through spirals and asymmetry, are mantled with countless, fanciful neon signs. Commercials alternate with the latest Pop trash on huge, holographic screens, while hordes of skycars race from every direction into one colourful, anarchic traffic jam. It is a flashy pandemonium. And it's dangerous.  
  
Circumventing all the scarlet “DO NOT WALK” warnings, the replicant slides on a downward lane and disappears into a garish arcade.  
  
“Freeze! Police!”  
  
Rin counts on the perplexed bystanders – young gamers and programmers in their majority – to pose a hindrance for his suspect, but he ends up bumping on several shoulders as well. Led floor tiles light up under his boots and his shouts get overlaid by the jumble of zapping and dinging sounds. The place is like a giant pinball and Rin is the space cadet. He follows the hooded man through one of the exits, bracing himself for another flying gridlock, when, to his surprise, the replicant abruptly swerves onto a deserted road. A colossal, old-style billboard rises at its end, blocking everything from sight. Spattering granite on discoloured blue paint reveals what used to be the Tokyo bay, once upon a time at the dawning of the second millenium. Rin steels himself for the inevitable face-off; unless they climb further up, there's no way out. Yet the replicant doesn't slow down. Undeterred, he is heading straight for the billboard.  
  
“What the hell, we're at an impasse!”  
  
All that punctures the dead air is the rasping sounds of tearing canvas, cracking wood and snapping planks. Rin is left nonplussed under the rain, staring at the huge hole yawning on the tarp.  
  
“Did he just...jump off?”  
  
It takes him a few seconds to shake himself and rush to the road's end. He hangs his head over the edge, raindrops dripping off his wet locks and disappearing into the chasm. Below him, one of the busiest aerial highways in the city is expanding in multiple levels and abstract colours. Crimson eyes frantically search through the mayhem of soaring mobiles and a puff of relief Rin didn't know he was holding escapes his lips, when he spots the fearless replicant on the roof of Tokyo's skytrain. The Shinkansen is barreling through like rapid fire, however, and Rin has no time to think.  
  
“Fucking bastaaaaaard...”  
  
His echo gets lost in the discord of the traffic, as he takes what he considers the leap of death with his eyes shut. He only opens them again when first his feet, and subsequently his knees, painfully hit some solid metal. To his fortune, he has landed on the very last wagon. Further away from him, the android is still standing, a slight crouch being enough for him to confront the skytrain's lightning speed. The same cannot be said about Rin. The laws of Physics callously tread on him, rendering him a prey to tremendous winds rushing by and constant turbulence. Spread like a starfish and hanging on for dear life, the redhead carefully slides inch by inch, until a third of his body is hovering outside one of the skytrain's emergency exits. He uses the handle of his gun to repeatedly bash on the thick glass, before the most daring of the shocked passengers pushes the button and lets him in.  
  
“Police...please calm...calm down...”, Rin pants for breath as he displays his badge to the startled faces around. Without hesitation, the passengers step aside while he makes his way through the joined wagons. Impatience doubles his sweat; when the skytrain stops, he may have already lost his suspect.  
  
Soon, the Shinkansen arrives at Shibuya station. Rin hops out in time to see the replicant jumping off the skytrain amidst interjections of surprise. The imposing complex of shopping malls rises rambling and jam-packed, and the hooded man is already galloping up the intertwined escalators. But Rin is too exhausted to keep up with his frenzied pace. The short break on the skytrain showed him just how superior these android soldiers are to his human zenith. By the time he climbs up the countless stories, the hooded man will have reached the stratosphere.  
  
Fortunately for Rin, he thinks like a fox and reacts like a fruit fly. An aero-dustcart is circling an artificial grassplot in close proximity. These floating, medium-sized vehicles – specially designed to maintain indoor yards and restricted outdoor areas clean – can't fly to impressive heights or touch the speed limit, but they are a much better option than Rin's feet. The redhead breaks in the dustcart's cabin and starts messing with the control panel, until the auto-pilot indication disappears. He manages to clumsily take off, almost sweeping with him the giant bird mascot with the rocky head that is sharing sweets outside a toy store.  
  
He meets the replicant sprinting on a long aerial bridge and rivaling the wind. The aero-dustcart aligns with the hooded man, two parallel dots crossing the sky, and Rin seizes the perfect chance to lock his revolver on the dashing target. All he waits for is one opening through the faceless passers-by. All he needs is one shot before the end of the bridge. It is in that predestined moment when the horns of gale blow stronger and the navy hood is impelled backwards. Dark, raven hair ripples under the storm, eyes like headlights of azure are flashing through the crowd of shadows and, for the first time, the replicant's flawless face unveils itself, as the man turns to stoically behold the hunter.  
  
_“_ _Who gave thee, O Beauty,  
The keys of this breast”  
  
_ Rin almost loses control of the flying vehicle. When he evens it again with the bridge level, the hood is back up and the replicant has already jumped off, heading towards a cluster of old apartment blocks.  
  
“Fuck, Matsuoka, get a hold of yourself!”  
  
The district the android disappears in is a labyrinth of alleys too narrow for the aero-dustcart to move without scraping away any bricks. But Mad Shark always knows another way. The small turbines bellow as the vehicle ascends high above the smoking rooftops. From there, locating his mystery man and predicting his next route suddenly becomes a piece of cake. Yet Rin has better to hurry and corner him, before the replicant vanishes into a hole. Trusting his judgment for the brunet's next turn, Rin stabilizes the vehicle hovering over a dim street and gently begins to float down. At the ideal height, he presses the EJECT button. There's a prolonged rumbling as all sorts of litter tumble to the ground. When seconds later the replicant shows up, a grotesque pyramid of trash is blocking his way like an artistic intervention.  
  
Rin hops off the vehicle and for the umpteenth time that day, the barrel of his gun salutes his suspect.  
  
“It's over, mate. You're one tough nut, I give you that.”  
  
Glassy eyes peer at him closely, eyelids don't flutter, veins don't flinch. Even with a loaded gun, Rin poses no threat. The silence is unnerving.  
  
“Do you understand what I'm saying?”  
  
He has seen this enigmatic cyborg evading bullets before, as if they were lingering soap bubbles. Perhaps carrying that wicked weapon Mikoshiba entrusted him with would have been a wiser choice. Adrenaline mixes the raindrops on his nape with sweat and he can't tell if the culrpit is awe or fear. His heart bolts like a stallion in the racetrack and his legs feel leaden, unable to take a step closer. Yet the replicant doesn't budge either. He just stands there in his soggy hoodie. Watching. Breathing.  
  
“ _Thou intimate stranger,  
Thou latest and first!”  
  
_ It's a creaking sound that boosts the dim street back to life. A backdoor opens behind them, revealing an unsuspecting foreigner with a rainbow Mohican, who carries a black bin bag heavier than his lanky self. A half-smoked cigarette drops off his lips as soon as he takes in the awkward scene with the rubbish background.  
  
“Holy fock, I'd be'ah stop throwin me cack owt.”  
  
Unknowingly, the punk creates the perfect diversion. With a swift twist, the hooded cyborg gets behind him and shoves him to Rin's embrace.  
  
“Stop! Damn it!” Rin steadies the stunned bloke while the brunet flees through the open door. The next moment, Rin leaves the man wondering whether he has chewed too many mushrooms and chases after the replicant.  
  
The building is gloomy and rat-infested. Mould defiles the walls in blotched patterns, but behind the hermetic apartment doors, Rin can smell the fusty odour of life. Floor after floor, he follows the thuds of the brunet's sneakers, until all sounds cease in the last corridor. Rin smirks, his grip tightening on the gun. One by one he tests the doors that aren't already sealed with yellow tape or wooden planks. They are all locked.  
  
Beneath the last door, a veil of light colours the rug. Rin's breath seems to stutter in his lungs, before he lets it escape and forcefully kicks the door open.  
  
“Freeze-”  
  
Rings of smoke drifting above lit cigars, green numbers with trains of digits blinking on notepad screens and several very crude and very startled faces staring back at him in disbelief. Rin gulps. Somehow he's certain the pile of white baggies on the table before him is neither salt nor sugar.  
  
“-ing! Freezing! It's freezing outside guys, so you just stay here nice and cozy. Nice and cozy.”  
  
The redhead sheepishly pulls back the broken door, before scurrying away from the uprising yakuza den. Never before Rin's feet have grown wings like now.  
  
Yet, he doesn't go far. Because the replicant is there, at the mouth of a passage hidden under the stairs that lead to the roof. He withdraws into the darkness the moment Rin lays eyes on him and the redhead can swear his imperceptible nod is a beckoning to follow.

“ _Was he waiting for me?”  
  
_ Of course there would be a secret way-out in a building run by the yakuza. Angry roars remind Rin of his current predicament and he crosses the passage almost blindly, rushing towards the outline of an exit he's certain the replicant has just used.  
  
And, as soon as he opens it, he falls.

The gap is disorientating. His legs jerk freely in the air, high above the kaleidoscopic vortex that is the world below. The pressure on every joint of his left arm is unbearable, as a single grip on a rusty flag pole is his only shield against the gravity that thirsts to swallow him. Like a yin to his yang, the replicant is already on the roof, looming over his despair in chilling calmness.  
  
“Throw your gun and grab my hand.”  
  
What an awkward moment to finally hear this man's voice for the first time. It is as edgeless and unemotional as his face. Rin's egoism doesn't allow him to cry for help, even if it's written within his ruby eyes in capital letters.  
  
“Fuck off!”  
  
“Throw your gun.”  
  
The brunet repeats slowly, as if he's addressing someone with a learning disability. Rin is ready to swear again, but his sweaty palm and the expanding knot of panic in the pit of his stomach betray him. With a loud groan, he abandons his gun to the void and tightly latches on his enemy's extended hand.  
  
On the roof's sodden deck, Rin rolls on his back and struggles to catch his breath. After this gigantic chase, the replicant is still standing there well-rested, without a hint of panting.  
  
“No doubt you're one of those synths.” Rin coughs and strenuously crawls back to his feet. He is exhausted, plus now he is unarmed, continuing their mad pursuit is pointless. Besides, the replicant looks completely unvexed. “If I'd known we would end up on the roof, I would have taken the stairs.”  
  
“The exit to the roof was locked. The yakuza hold the key.”  
  
“Oh the yakuza hold...” Rin starts, but soon his eyes widen in realization. “Holy hell!”  
  
He barely finishes the curse when five gangsters storm the terrace and the neon bullets begin to fly. Rin slumps onto the concrete and takes cover behind an old ventilation shaft . He instinctively reaches for his belt and immediately grunts.  
  
“I could have used that gun now, you know!” he shouts at the replicant, even though he has no sight of him. He keeps hearing the barrage of shots and angry voices, until the place suddenly sinks in dead silence.  
  
Cautiously emerging from his sheet iron hide, Rin encounters a mind-boggling scene. All five gangsters lie unconscious around the hooded man in a radial pattern. It's the second time the redhead stands witness to the replicant's fighting superiority; it fascinates him.  
  
“Well that was fast.” Rin picks up a laser gun from underneath a mobster's body and. without further loitering, points it at the cyborg. “You understand I cannot let you go again.”  
  
“What makes you think you have more chances to stop me than they had?”  
  
“I'll take my chances. I need some answers.”  
  
The fire escape door crashes off its hinges, revealing a towering, bulky man in total black.  
  
“Great, another kyodai.”  
  
Rin huffs and turns the laser gun on the new intruder. But the hooded android swiftly steps in front of the daring police officer.  
  
“Wait! This is-”  
  
Despite his size, the stranger dives in like a lightning. The brunet blocks the first punch with crossed forearms, but the second hit finds him in the ribs and sends him flying several meters away. Where he lands, the force creates a dent on the concrete.  
  
“...a replicant?” Rin finishes the sentence aghast. For the first time, the brunet looks nothing more than a dazed prey in the mercy of a Hulk. He seizes his neck and lifts him up in the air, while the shorter man flounders and stubbornly strives to free himself. Rin panics; what can he do to help? He's a mere ant under this replicant's work boots.  
  
And then he remembers. He has been an impotent spectator to this play before. The day that triggered his fathomless hatred for these synthetic freaks. Back then, the victim wasn't another replicant. Nor any unfortunate citizen of Tokyo. It was his very own friend. His confidant. His brother. And Rin “Mad Shark” Matsuoka had been there too late. He is not late now. He is not.  
  
It's a fountain of impulsive emotions that erupts through Rin's body and compels him to charge towards the herculean android. He jumps on his massive back and within the time frame the surprise of the assault grants him, he aims the laser gun at the replicant's startled eyes.  
  
“You fucking monster, dodge this!”  
  
A horrendous outcry of pain rises from the replicant's wide chest. As acidic black slime oozes from his right eye, his captive untagles himself from his loosened grip and drags Rin away.  
  
They run with the wind, leaping from rooftop to rooftop like assassins in an old movie setting. The humbled Hulk pursues them no more, but the same can't be said for the yakuza who have sent another round of thugs on their trail.  
  
“What the hell is going on?!” Rin yells, almost spitting his pounding heart out “Why is your friend here?”  
  
“Friend?”  
  
“Don't dwell on the words now. That guy from your kin, the robot.”  
  
“I am _not_ a robot.”  
  
An unprecedented scowl shadows the brunet's stolid face, causing Rin to grimace. _“Don't tell me he's offended ?”  
  
_ Soon enough, they stumble on an obstacle that threatens to put an end to their escape. They are standing on the edge of a terrace while the building across looks unreachable without superhuman powers. And as Rin curses his luck and checks over his shoulder on their nearing chasers, the replicant rears up and springs to the other side.  
  
“Are you nuts?!! This is at least seven stories high, I'll burst like a water balloon!”  
  
“Come on!”  
  
“How?!!! By teleporting?”  
  
Rin finds the fire escape ladder that snakes from floor to floor, while their echoes reverberate in this remnant of an old Tokyo neighbourhood.  
  
“They will catch up. You are wasting time!”  
  
“I'd rather waste time than my life!”  
  
Suddenly, the redhead feels a whoosh of air that almost makes him fall off the ladder. The replicant is again by his side.  
  
“You grumble too much.”  
  
He says nothing more. Instead, he snatches Rin, secures him in his arms and plummets to the street below. The mobsters' heads have just surfaced one story above them and neon bullets accompany their fall like glow worms.  
  
“Ouch!”  
  
“Are you alright?” The replicant asks the moment they land.  
  
“I...I think so...”  
  
“There!” He points ahead of them, where the end of the district meets a more lively avenue. A globular space taxi is parked, while the driver is luxuriating in Tokyo's street food at close quarters.  
  
“Forget it, we are not stealing a cab.” Rin pauses, clenching his side. “I'm a cop!”  
  
“You had no problem getting that aero-dustcart.”  
  
The mad shark swallows his ego along with the flare on his cheeks, and watches the replicant demagnetizing the car's lock with a swing of his palm. Ten seconds later, only a cloud of smoke is left to levitate in their place.  
  
“Get rid of the Syndicate tracker...the fuckers have installed one...every...where...”  
  
The brunet easily locates the GPS tracking chip below the wheel and disconnects it, before crushing it between his fingers. Up to now, he has performed the same task countless times.  
  
“Are you ok?”  
  
The passing neon lights of Tokyo liquefy into a rainbow blur outside the taxi's globe. Tiny raindrops on the glass coalesce into streams. In Rin's scarlet eyes, it's like this colourful, psychedelic world is crying. And yet there's something so soothing in this wistful haze. Leaning to the side, he feels like he can finally rest.  
  
“Hey, are you ok?”  
  
That slight tinge of apprehension in the cyborg's voice evokes Rin's mirth. Laboured laughs break away in between his gasps for air. This cold synth, who knew?  
  
“No I...I don't think I am.”  
  
He pulls aside his dark trench coat. Under his left ribcage, his raven shirt is soaked. Who could have guessed that it's the blood that turns the black darker?  
  
“You've been shot.” The replicant places two fingers on Rin's neck. “Your pulse is slowing down.”  
  
The lights are less vibrant now. They are sailing away, flickering dots that bait him to follow. His laughter becomes irregular.  
  
“Your name...if I'm to die in the passenger's seat of a cab...at least...let me know the driver...”  
  
“My name is Haruka.”  
  
“Haruka. Haru-”  
  
Eyes like headlights. Like beacons guiding through the dark, turbulent sea. Out of the sea and its darkness. The blackness all around him. Nothing but blackness.  
  
“Oi, Haru...I'm Rin.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from the poem "Ode to Beauty" by Ralph Waldo Emerson are used in this chapter.  
> “Holy fock, I'd be'ah stop throwin me cack owt" = "Holy fuck, I'd better stop throwing my shit out" in Brummie dialect.  
> kyodai: rank within the structure of the yakuza, the big brother
> 
> Next Chapter: Part III. Underground


End file.
